


Deal? Deal.

by diewolves



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Biphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, and I don't know how to write anything other than dialogue, listen I'm gay, this is pretty vanilla right now but it'll get kinkier and sadder don't worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9435641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diewolves/pseuds/diewolves
Summary: Oliver is gay; Marcus is gay; Penelope is best friends with Oliver; everything is good and happy for a while. Starts at the beginning of seventh year, will go until after the war. Unfinished, but updating regularly.





	1. the way he flies

Oliver twisted a button on his binoculars, trying to bring Flint into view. For once, he was rooting for his rival; Ravenclaw was unstoppable with their new seeker, and every time they managed to steal the ball, the cup inched another ten points away from Gryffindor. His contraption finally focused on Flint, just in time for Oliver to witness a bludger catch him right on the side of his head. Shit. Flint swung backwards, almost hitting the stands, before he finally regained control of his broom. Oliver zoomed out again, surveying the field. Slytherin was up eighty, but Ravenclaw was basically guaranteed the snitch, what with the preteen idiot Flint was playing for seeker.   
Flint regained the ball after a slightly illicit attack on an unsuspecting fourth year, and raced towards the opposite end of the pitch. The way Flint flew- if Gryffindor had three chasers like him, forget about Hogwarts, they could win the world cup in a heartbeat. He veered around two bludgers racing towards him, throwing the quaffle in the same move. Slytherin up ninety. He cut off the toss from the Ravenclaw keeper to the fourth year midair, halfway between the two players, and threw it back at the goalpost in the same breath. Slytherin up a hundred. Oliver refocused on Flint, watching him rip through the sky effortlessly. When they were younger, Flint had been a gawky and misformed sort of boy, with legs and arms thicker than a tree trunk and shoulders slimmer than a model’s waist. Recently, though, that had changed. Flint had evened out somewhat, grown taller for certain, and it seemed as though he had had something done to his teeth. Now he looked sleek, and a bit dangerous.   
Someone moved in front of him, cutting off his view, and he heard Jordan announce that Slytherin was a hundred thirty ahead. He zoomed out again. He could tell Davies was nervous now; he was trying a move that he would usually never use in game. Flint dodged the fourth year (Burren? Burton? Burtrow?) and pulled past Davies, winking at him. He was asking for it at this point; Oliver wouldn’t be surprised if Davies just gave in and socked him in the face. Lord knows there had been times Oliver had considered it. Before he had the chance, Flint pulled up and hurled the ball left in one clean cut move. Slytherin up one forty. Davies signalled something to his beaters. It looked like he had abandoned the idea of a fair game and was moving to plan B, otherwise known as “It’s Pretty Easy to be a Better Chaser than an Unconscious Man”.  
Before any of this could happen, however, the whole dynamic changed; the seekers had seen something. Or, more accurately, Chang had seen something and the little boy was chasing her at top speed. Chang seemed to be hurling herself as fast as possible at the Ravenclaw goalposts until she pulled up suddenly, and reached up with both hands.   
“CHANG HAS THE SNITCH! Ladies and gentlemen, she does it again!” Jordan’s voice echoed through the crowds, “Chang has caught the snitch for Ravenclaw, that’s a final score of 350-340 for the our friends in blue! Flint looks rather upset, I suppose losing a quidditch match is sad, although I’m sure anyone would lose if one team was missing six players, oh wait-”   
“LEE,”  
“Alright, alright professor, a hard fought win for Ravenclaw which leaves us with Ravenclaw first in the rankings, followed by Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and the good old Gryffindors. Thanks for watching folks, always fun to see three confused boys saved by Chang, what a seeker, and with that, the win goes to Ravenclaw.”   
Oliver pulled apart his binoculars, putting the pieces into his bag. They were in last place, which was not great, but they were only two games into the season. Gryffindor still had a chance.   
“Oliver!” Penelope appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, “You’re coming to the afterparty, yeah? You have to come, Sophie, you know Sophie from the year below us, she got some firewhiskey, and your beaters say they’ve got some food in celebration of beating Slytherin, and Allen, you know Allen from Hufflepuff, he’ll be there.” Penelope winked at this, proud of her achievements in finding one singular boy who liked boys of vaguely the same age as Oliver, other than the one she was already dating. She was well intentioned, and he loved her to death, but just because two gay people end up on the same plane of existence does not mean they are destined for true love.   
“Penelope, I know Allen from Hufflepuff, and I’m certain he’s a very kind person and I’m sure there are people who love him, but I sit behind him in Charms and I swear if I hear that idiot talk about household charms and local variation upon spells around the world one more time I will perform an unforgivable curse and you will not be able to forgive me. I’ll go to your party, but if I so much as see Allen from Hufflepuff in my vicinity, you will never see your dearest Einstein again.”  
“You wouldn’t dare hurt a cat! Einstein is innocent, he’s never done anything to you.” Penelope grabbed his arm as he finished packing up his bag, and hauled him in the direction of the celebratory crowds. 

Marcus kicked his trunk twice before the lock finally popped. He pulled it open, swearing under his breath at the piece of shit trunk. His mother would faint if she ever learned of this; not because of the language, she was quite foul mouthed herself, but because he had kicked Great Great Great Aunt Eugenia’s dearest trunk, gifted to her by the minister of magic himself, passed down the Avery line for generations, gifted to him, the eldest son of the only daughter of Marcus Avery, for whom he was named, blablabla, blablabla.  
For now, though, he wasn’t particularly upset to have it. The stubborn lock protected his alcohol stash. Marcus grabbed the bottle of champagne he had saved for tonight. He had planned on getting shitfaced at a Slytherin party, but moping about the castle feeling sorry for himself with a full bottle of champagne as company seemed to present an equal opportunity for enjoyment. Well, it didn’t, but that’s what you get when you lose to the fucking smart book kid clever ass McIntelligent house. Jesus, his dad would be mad when he told him. He popped the bottle, aiming for the family photo on his nightstand, and missing by a few feet.   
Time to go celebrate. 

Oliver spent most of the night hovering around the food, slowly picking away at the chips George had brought. Penelope had returned to him every once in awhile, introducing him to people he already knew or bringing him food he didn’t want, but as the night went on she grew drunker, and by midnight she could be found on one of the Ravenclaw couches, making out with Percy. He checked his watch, figuring if he left now she would be too drunk to notice his early departure. Carefully, he snuck out of the Ravenclaw common room, and followed his favorite path back to Gryffindor. He turned down a dimly lit hallway that was now mostly used for extra books that wouldn’t fit in the library, but which had held his Transfiguration classroom years ago, and collided with another person.   
They stumbled backwards, clearly more than a little tipsy.   
“Flint? Is that you?”  
“You bet it is Wood, Flint and his best pals,” Flint swung around what appeared to be a bottle of liquor, nearly knocking a light off the wall.   
“Are you….. Drunk?”  
“You bet I am Wood. Want some? It’s my mom’s, so you know it’s probably from France or some shit like that.”  
“Sorry, I was heading to bed. Are you okay?”  
“Yeah man, I’m great! I got French drunk, and I lost to the book babies! I fucking repeated high school to lose to book babies!”  
“Yeah, you’re not okay.” Oliver leaned forward and took the bottle of champagne. “You want to go sit down for a bit?” He pointed at the room next to them.   
“I’ll go in there if you give me the French back,” Flint said, pointing at the bottle, “I think it’s expensive or something.”   
“Yeah, okay, whatever you say. Come on.”  
Oliver unlocked the door with a flick of his wand, and lit the room with another flick. He pushed open the door and strode in, making them a place to sit on top of a box of books. Flint sat down immediately, as if he was glad to have a place to be.   
Oliver looked at him hesitantly. He looked a little desperate, and quite a bit like someone who was trying to pretend to be okay. “Listen, Flint,”  
“I’m not Flint. My dad’s Flint. He’s Mr. Flint. I mean I’m a Flint yeah he’s my dad but I’m not….. I’m just….. I’m Marcus, okay? Call me Marcus. Call me Mark. My house elf calls me Markie but she’s sixty five and makes me brownies and you haven’t earned that one yet.”  
“Right. Okay. Marcus.”   
Oliver studied him for a second longer, searching for something to say. “You weren’t bad today. I mean, you were good, you know. You’re a good chaser. A great one, at that.”  
Marcus looked up at him, “You think so? I mean, I lost. I’ve been flying for my whole life, my dad taught me when I was five, and I lost.”  
“You know, quidditch is a team sport. You can be a damn good chaser and still lose all the time if no one else is giving it their all.”  
“Yeah, but I’m the captain, and I lost. It’s on me.” Marcus looked up at Oliver, and seemed to feel bad for a moment. “It’s fine man, I’ll beat you next time,” he said, pulling up a crooked smile. Oliver caught on.   
“Like hell you will Flint. You seen Spinnet this year? That girl can move like the wind.”  
“Marcus, and yeah I’ve seen her move, but trust me, I’m better.” Marcus leaned in to Oliver. His eyes were a little red around the edges, but the irises were a deep brown, sweet like honey, glowing like gold. Oliver found himself unable to look away. Marcus continued, “You seen my moves this year?”  
“I’ve seen your moves this year, Flint, but don’t worry, they won’t matter if I’m there to block them.”  
“Marcus, and trust me, you can’t block this new thing I’ve been working on. I scored three hundred on Ravenclaw today with it, you really thing the chosen one can catch fast enough to stop me?”  
“Flint, I swear, there is no way you will be able to beat my team. We could kick your ass, even twice as drunk as you are right now.”  
“Marcus, and you’ll regret those words next Saturday.”  
“Really? Fine. Gryffindor wins and you have to do whatever I say all of Sunday.”  
“Deal.”  
“You’ll regret that one, Flint.” They were centimeters away now, both of them grinning wildly.  
“Marcus.” Marcus leaned forward ever so slightly. If Oliver so much as inhaled, he swore they would be touching. Their eyes were locked. The room was completely silent, filled with shelves of untouched and ancient books, the two of them facing each other, and Oliver swore he could hear Marcus’s heartbeat.   
Oliver pulled back a bit. He didn’t want to push his luck too far. “What, are you going to fucking kiss me?” he choked out, forcing a laugh to lighten the tension. 

Marcus kissed him. Jesus fuck, he was drunk, but that didn’t change much either. Oliver had always been beautiful, had always been strong, had always been tempting, he had just never been right there the way he was now. He leaned forward, pushing, but Oliver pulled back.   
“I’m sorry, I’m drunk, you’re just…” Marcus was aware he was still staring at Oliver like an artist at the Louvre, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. 

Oliver kissed him. He had been surprised at first, but now this was all he wanted, all he could think about. Oliver leaned in, parting Marcus’s lips with his tongue. Marcus made no protest, instead just pulling him closer, pressing up against him, closer than Oliver had ever been to anyone ever before. Oliver pushed his hands through Marcus’s hair, up Marcus’s shirt, everywhere and anywhere he could reach. One time, when he was a fourth year he had gotten into a fight with Marcus and they had ended up wrestling on the floor. This was oddly similar, but god was it better. Marcus pulled back and started unbuttoning his shirt, pausing between each button for a kiss. The shirt went, then the undershirt, then Oliver’s. Marcus pushed him back against another box, holding him down, kissing, pulling, pushing. After a few minutes of this, Marcus’s hand slipped lower, and Oliver pulled away.  
“No.”   
Marcus stopped immediately, sitting back up. “I’m sorry, I just…”  
“No, it’s not that, it’s just, you’re drunk, and god I want to but I don’t- I’m not going to- you’re drunk.”  
They just looked at each other for a few seconds, both breathing heavily. They were still close enough that if Oliver leaned forward they could be kissing again in a second.   
A smile spread across Marcus’s lips. “Does that mean when I’m not drunk, we could do this again?”   
“New deal, Marcus. You win next Saturday, I’m yours on Sunday. Same way around if I win. Deal?”  
“Deal.”


	2. the astronomy tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deal is fulfilled, but all is not perfect.

Oliver sat on the bench in the locker room, watching his teammates joke around as they prepared for the game. He felt more nervous than he had ever felt before, which didn’t make much sense. This game was important, but it didn’t determine everything, and he was pretty sure they would win. Although, if Marcus played the way he had against Ravenclaw last week, he stood a chance. Oliver had spent the last week sneaking glances at Marcus, and on more than one condition he had looked up only to meet Marcus’s eyes and realize that he was looking too. Marcus was probably sizing up the competition. Oliver couldn’t bring himself to believe that Marcus would actually want to hook up with him. He had been drunk, and it would probably never happen again. Marcus probably had forgotten all about the deal. Probably.  
“Oliver?” Alicia’s voice broke through his thoughts, “Are you ready to go?”  
He looked up to see the rest of his team, waiting for his go. 

One hundred and sixty points. That was the margin Marcus had needed to maintain against Gryffindor to win the game without the snitch. He had been up one hundred and forty. Not good enough. Again. He slammed his fist into the locker, hitting it so hard it bent inwards. He had planned everything out perfectly; his only orders to his team had been to keep the Potter boy distracted for long enough that he could pull ahead. And they had. The game had taken five hours, but through the whole thing they had never pulled far enough ahead. It hadn’t been enough. Potter had dodged two beaters, two chasers, and a bludger to catch the snitch half an hour past midnight, and he had lost again. One of the most important fucking games of his quidditch career, and important in other manners too, and he had to lose it. He studied his hand, and noticed it starting to bruise. He let it. He fucking deserved it for this. Marcus slumped down onto the floor in defeat. He had prepared his room for tonight: picked up all his trash, made his bed, fetched food from the elves, stolen candles from a supply closet, he had even saved the other half of the champagne he had been drunk on the first night. All for nothing. He doubted Oliver would even remember their deal, it had probably just been a fast way to get out of there. Probably.  
He heard a knock at the door and stood up to let whoever it was in. Probably the Malfoy boy, he was always forgetting his quidditch supplies somewhere. He pulled open the door, and looked up to find himself face to face with Oliver Wood.  
“Hey, so, what are you doing tonight?”  
Oliver looked worried, as though he expected Marcus to slam the door in his face at any moment. Maybe he had remembered the deal after all.  
“Not much. I mean, I had something prepared for if I won, you know, but I didn’t.” He pulled his lips up into a joking half smile.  
“Yeah. You didn’t.”  
Marcus’s heart stuttered, forgetting how to beat properly. Of course Oliver wouldn’t want anything to do with him. He felt almost sick. Marcus couldn’t believe he had tricked himself into thinking that Oliver would want to be with someone like him.  
Oliver seemed to realize how Marcus was feeling, and he continued quickly, “I mean, you did really well. I thought you would win for a while. You’re incredible. I just, I thought we could go up to somewhere, since I won, and well we made this deal, and I know a back way into the Astronomy tower, and it’s beautiful this late at night, and I brought some blankets up, and I thought we could….. I don’t know……” Oliver trailed off, staring at Marcus.  
Marcus remained silent. It was too good to be true, he knew a hook was coming somewhere.  
Oliver waited a moment, and then started, “I mean, if you don’t want to, I understand. This was a long game and we’re all tired and I won’t hold you to anything, don’t worry. I mean, don’t worry. If you don’t want to come, that is. I just thought that maybe……”  
“No,” Marcus whispered.  
“Oh, okay then, I mean, I understand, it’s fine, we’re both tired, and it’s fine, I can get the stuff down some other time, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, I mean-”  
“No! What I’m saying is, no, I’m not tired. I’d like to see that. The astronomy tower at night. It sounds, well it sounds beautiful. So no, I can come, I’d love to go….. Talk. Up there.”  
They looked at each other in silence for a minute, until Marcus finally turned to go pick up his gear. 

Oliver pushed on the trapdoor once, twice, three times, and then tapped out “password” in morse code. A nearby painting of three moles who claimed to guard the door had told him everything but the password, and Oliver had just guessed that moles were probably about as good at passwords as his grandmother. The password to her rare book library was “rare book library,” bless her hundred year old soul.  
The trapdoor swung open with a series of whirring noises, and for the hundredth time the moles remembered they were supposed to be stopping him.  
“Stop!”  
“Intruder!”  
“I’ll tell the cat man! And his cat too!”  
Oliver scoffed, “You wouldn’t tell Filch. You’d be in trouble too then, for letting us in.”  
The moles conversed among themselves in quiet whispers.  
“Alright, you and the tall one can go in.”  
“But only this time. We’re being lenient.”  
“We’re going to change the password soon, and then we’ll get you.”  
“Right, just like you changed the password last time.”  
Oliver could feel Marcus staring at him, so he pulled a ladder down from the trapdoor.  
“Here, pass me your bag and I’ll throw it up, and then you can follow it.”  
Marcus did as told, a little wonder in his eyes. Oliver wondered if he’d ever seen any of the hidden bits of Hogwarts. In Gryffindor, it was tradition that everyone had to find at least one unmapped place before they graduated. He supposed the Slytherins didn’t do much of this. After all, if you have your own dungeon, what’s the point in finding a secret trapdoor guarded by moles?  
Oliver followed him up to the astronomy room, closing the door behind him. The room was circular, with wide open air windows every few feet along the walls. In the center of the room Oliver had arranged several blankets, plus a telescope. Sinistra took out the good ones on weekends, but Oliver’s aunt had given him one as a boy and it mostly still worked. 

Marcus adjusted the telescope, fixing it on Ganymede. He pulled away from the eyepiece, letting Oliver see.  
“When I was little, my mom always told me that was the best I could hope to be.” Marcus watched as Oliver leaned back from the telescope to face him. “Ganymede. The wine carrier to someone great. She said it like it was the best thing in the world, to be a servant. I didn’t understand until I was older and they were all in Azkaban that she meant a servant to him. The Dark Lord.”  
Oliver winced, turning away. “You know my mom’s a muggle, right? She’s American too. She works as a secretary, at the muggle ministry in London. She’s really sweet and she likes to play muggle sports with me and bake scones. I’m not ashamed of her.”  
“Oh- no- I’m not like that. The ministry gave me to my great-aunt Iola when I was six, she practically raised me, and she’s a traitor. A blood traitor. She married a muggle man. She was the closest to me though, who wasn’t put in prison. Other than the Malfoys and this other traitor family, but the Malfoy’s didn’t want another kid and the traitor family didn’t want a death eater’s son.”  
They stared at each other, cold wind whistling around their ears. 

Oliver had been doing this mostly on a whim. He hadn’t even thought Marcus would come. But now he was here, and they were talking, and Marcus seemed kind of human. He could see himself here, with Marcus. He could see them together. He could see them coming up here next week, and the week after, and the week after.  
Oliver leaned forward and brushed his lips against Marcus’s. He held where he was for a second, their lips barely touching. He stared into Marcus’s eyes, dark and stormy.  
Marcus pushed in, kissing like they had before, but now Oliver was freezing cold and alert and every nerve on his body felt electric. Air whipped around them, stirring the blankets and their clothes and their hair but not them. Marcus kept pushing, pushing for more, and Oliver finally gave in. He fell back against the ground, and Marcus pulled forward onto his hips, leaning down to keep kissing him. Oliver closed his eyes, feeling fingers run against his skin, lips on his neck, feeling Marcus. Their clothes came off faster than last time, despite the cold.  
Finally, Oliver lay under Marcus, completely naked. His heart was pounding faster than it had during the quidditch game. He felt wildly out of control, and he wasn’t quite sure how to stop it.  
“I’ve never done this before.” Oliver spoke quickly, the words spilling out of him. Marcus looked at him, a little uncertain, and reached up to push his hair out of the way.  
“Me neither. Not with a boy, that is.”  
“You like girls?”  
“I mean- I- yeah. I like girls. Before, that is. I’ve liked boys too, but I’ve never…”  
Oliver’s breath caught in his throat. He’d done it again.  
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” Oliver pushed Marcus off him, and stood up, still a little wobbly. “I have to get back to bed, it’s late.” Marcus stayed rooted where he was, running his hand through his hair over and over again, making it more mussed than it already was.  
“I like boys. I’m not straight. This isn’t like… I like you, okay?”  
Oliver shook his head, pushing his legs into his pants one at a time. “I just can’t right now, okay?” He put on the rest of his clothes as quickly as he could. Marcus just stared. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Penelope laughed, watching Percy try to balance four plates of food stacked on top of each other. Allen snickered, covering his mouth to keep Percy from noticing.  
“We should help him, shouldn’t we?” Penelope asked.  
“Probably.”  
Someone grabbed Penelope’s arm, pulling her backwards. She reached for her wand, spinning around to face the assailant. It turned out to be Oliver, crying a little and wearing a mis-buttoned shirt.  
“Oliver?” she hissed under her breath, “What the fuck? You couldn’t like, tap my shoulder?” She felt bad as soon as she said it- he looked like something had seriously upset him- but there was a death eater traitor madman running around and she hadn’t yet forgotten being a statue.  
He released her arm, and drew a short, ragged breath. “I’m sorry, it’s just, I need you. Please.”  
Penelope followed him up to his room, and they sat facing each other on his bed.  
“So, what happened? Why are you like this? What’s wrong?”

Oliver let his entire story pour out. He had felt awful keeping anything from Penelope, but he hadn’t even been sure Marcus had been serious, and he didn’t want to embarrass himself.  
“And he likes girls. And so, I left. I didn’t want it again. I swear, I finally get used to you two dating, I get used to Percy being straight now, and then this just-”  
“Percy’s not straight now,” Penelope interjected, “he’s bi. He’s just as bi as when he was dating you.”  
“Right, I mean like, but he wasn’t into me. And now he’s dating you”  
“Still bi. Just because you two had a shitty relationship and should’ve just been friends from the start doesn’t mean he isn’t into guys like, big picture.”  
“Right but, he wasn’t really like… He dated me, okay. And I liked him. And he was just experimenting.”  
“No, he was dating you. And then you broke up. You don’t call it experimenting when I dated Jared fourth year, and we broke up.”  
“Right but, you still like boys.”  
“Percy still likes boys. He just loves me.”  
Oliver drew in a breath. “Just, listen to me, okay? I can’t do that. I had to leave. I can’t go through that again, another boy dating me and leaving me because he’s not really gay-”  
“Bi.” Penelope’s mouth was drawn into a thin line. “He’s bi. He’s into boys, and girls, and he’s dating me. It’s really not that hard. Jared broke up with me and now he’s dating this brunette and I don’t go around moping about how he didn’t really like blondes because he broke up with me. He just happens to be dating a brunette right now. Jesus Oliver, he’s bi.”  
“Okay. I just don’t know what to do. I don’t want to do this if he doesn’t really like me. Like, for anything besides making out with, or whatever.”  
Penelope rolled her eyes. “So go ask him on a date. Go to Hogsmeade with him. Talk to him. See if you can get through one nice lunch without tearing each other’s pants off.”  
“Okay. I suppose I’ll ask him tomorrow. I guess. Thanks, Penelope.”  
She smiled, and he knew all past stupidity was forgiven. “Now can I fix your goddamn shirt?”


	3. the hot chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Marcus go to Hogwarts on a quiet Friday evening. They want to be more than friends.

They walked silently next to each other along the snowy path. At first, they had chatted about quidditch, about school, but now they had run out of easy topics. They were still about five minutes out of Hogsmeade, and Oliver could feel the silence pressing on them. He couldn’t mess this up again. Marcus would probably be the only boy who liked him for the foreseeable future, and he couldn’t just keep letting Penelope set him up with every non-straight male in existence. This had to be something.   
“Hey,” Oliver broke the silence, “I’m sorry about last Sunday.”  
Marcus kept looking ahead. “It’s fine. We were going fast, I understand, and”  
“No, it was me,” Oliver interrupted, “The only other boy I’ve, you know, umm, well he was bisexual. And he left me for my friend and she’s a girl. It was fucked up to assume you’d do that though. I’m sorry.”  
They walked in silence for another dozen yards or so before Marcus responded. “Thank you for telling the truth, at least.” He stopped and turned to Oliver, and Oliver paused to face him. “Do you want to start over?” Marcus asked, “Just, pretend none of that happened, and we can start from here?”  
Oliver felt a weight lift off his shoulders. “Yeah. I’d like that. Just hang out, y’know.”  
“Alright.” 

Marcus laughed, stirring his hot chocolate. “Yeah, I wouldn’t get another toad after that either. Totally understandable. I mean, explosions can be traumatizing to young and impressionable children.”  
Oliver raised his mug above the table. “To poor old Maggie. She sacrificed so much to feed my great wizarding career.”  
Marcus met the tea in a toast, watching Oliver’s face. His eyes had laugh lines already, and sometimes when he looked about to laugh he would press his lips together as if to keep Marcus from seeing his smile, but it didn’t matter. His eyes never lied. When Oliver smiled, they crinkled around the edges, dark lashes framing sparkling blue irises.   
Marcus realized he was staring, and cleared his throat. “So, do you have any pets right now?”   
“Yeah, I have a cat, Tubby, but I don’t really see him that much. I think he sleeps with Penelope, to be honest, because I’ve seen orange cat hairs on her bed before, but I can’t catch him at it. You?”  
“No, never. We have a few owls back at my aunt’s, but she’s allergic to anything with fur and she thinks toads are too slimy. And my parents didn’t like animals, so there wasn’t anything when I was little either. I wanted a cat a couple years ago, I thought I would have it at Hogwarts and then over summer it could stay with my parents, but my mom said that cats have a tendency to hear things they’re not supposed to hear, whatever that means.”  
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m sure Tubby wouldn’t mind hanging out with you too. He’s friends with half our year, and he’s always nice to any of my friends.”  
“Is that what we are? Friends?” As soon as Marcus said it, he regretted it. “Not that that’s a bad thing,” he added quickly, “that would be nice.”  
“That would be nice.” Oliver seemed ready to say more, but then he just leaned back into his chair and took another sip of tea.  
“We should be getting back. It’ll be curfew soon, and if Filch catches us out past curfew, there’s a good chance he’ll hang us.”  
Oliver nodded, and they both got up to leave. Oliver made to pay for the drinks, but Marcus remembered his shabby uniforms, his old broom, and quickly pulled out a galleon. “I can cover it, don’t worry.”   
“I can pay for myself,” Oliver responded, although he looked hesitant to pull out any money.   
“No, really. Consider it a thank you gift, for the usage of your cat.”  
Oliver nodded, letting Marcus put down the coin. They left the shop and started back to Hogwarts, talking about everything and nothing.

They reached the hall leading to the Gryffindor dorms, and Marcus turned to leave, waving behind him.  
“Wait, Marcus,” Oliver called out.  
Marcus stopped where he was, facing Oliver again. “Yeah?”  
“I don’t want to be just friends.”  
“Me neither.”  
“Okay. Would you like to go on another date with me? Next Friday?”  
Marcus’s mouth curved into a soft smile. “Another? Does that mean today was a date?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Then yeah, I would. Next Friday, after practice. See you then.” With that, Marcus turned and walked away, leaving Oliver to wonder what came next. To think, he had once tried to hex Marcus so that he couldn’t play quidditch. Now he knew that Marcus liked cats and chocolate, he knew that Marcus rarely laughed, but when he did it was incredible, he knew that Marcus’s favorite color was blue and his favorite team was Puddlemere. Oliver knew other things, too. He knew that Marcus wanted to be more than friends with him.


End file.
